


Shadows of Seheron

by itzteegan



Series: Shadows [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Choose your own romantic partner, F/M, Flashbacks, Gender-Neutral Inquisitor, Gender-Neutral Kadan, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Purposefully vague descriptions, inspired by a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21522457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzteegan/pseuds/itzteegan
Summary: They're as far as the eye can see/There are shadows haunting me ...Even far-removed from the jungles of Seheron, its shadows still stalk The Iron Bull.
Relationships: Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi/Iron Bull, Female Inquisitor/Iron Bull, Inquisitor/Iron Bull, Iron Bull/Cassandra Pentaghast, Iron Bull/Cullen Rutherford, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Iron Bull
Series: Shadows [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788373
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21
Collections: Actually Adoribull Fic





	Shadows of Seheron

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: the pairings may seem contradictory, but I've tagged them for a reason. The focus of this piece was The Iron Bull, and as such I didn't think it overly important exactly who his Kadan was, just that they existed and were present. So I've left their description purposefully vague and their pronouns gender-neutral so you, as a reader, can imagine any particular pairing you like. Bull/Dorian? Sure! Bull/Inquisitor? Yup! Bull/Cullen or Bull/Cassandra or Bull/Krem? Certainly! Even something not tagged, like Bull/Varric or Bull/Hawke or basically Bull/anybody? Go for it! I basically just grabbed the major tags, as I didn't want to clog up the tag list, but if you think I should add some more, let me know. I just decided to err on the conservative side.
> 
> Also: this fic was heavily inspired by the song "Shadows" by Styles P, so much so that I highly recommend giving it a listen either before or while reading this. It sets the tone in a way that reading it without the song just isn't the same.

The Iron Bull leaned back in his chair in the Herald’s Rest, flagon of ale in hand. A small smile adorned his face, but only those who didn’t truly know him would think it was friendly. He put it on so he didn’t scare the patrons, wouldn’t leave the air around him as tense as he felt. That was just how it was. Being who he was, being _Hissrad_ for so many years, wearing that mask just came naturally. So even though from all outside appearances it looked like he was just sitting there enjoying his ale, in reality a crack had opened in his mind and he was miles away.

It was a certain spice, something similar to what could be found on Seheron that had taken him back there. In one moment he’d smelled it, breathing deep, the scent filling his nostrils, and then the next he was right back there, sun on his face, humid wind at his back. The horizon shimmered with the heat that radiated off the land, the scenery before him deceptively calm. It was always moments like this when it appeared quiet and that all was well that _something_ would happen. Whether that something was a sudden explosion, an ambush, a knife between the ribs, it didn’t seem to matter. The calm always heralded a storm, and as a result whenever it seemed like things were settling down, that’s when he was most restless, looking for the next blow, the next attack. He was at home in the chaos and the fighting, but the tense waiting and the devastating aftermath, that was the most difficult to handle. Shoving an axe through a person’s skull was easy work, but picking through a pile of dead children to see if there were any survivors … that was a part – one of the many parts, really – that had him questioning the Qun and his place within it.

The Qun was order, a safe haven, a port in a storm. That had been drilled into him as he was trained and prepared, before he left for Seheron. It was meant to be a mantra of sorts, something he could recall when he needed, a piece of comfort for the difficult road ahead. He hadn’t thought the assignment was easy, far from it. In fact, he’d embraced the idea of a challenge, eyes brightening as he stood just a little taller when he was told where he was going. He was downright excited. He’d thought he knew everything he needed, that his instruction and training would have been enough to sustain him through his time there.

It wasn’t. Oh how naïve he had been. It helped in the beginning, sure, but over time it wore him down. Just like a stone is smoothed by the wind and the sand, so too was his resolve, the strength of his belief, until all that was left was raw and wanting. He’d even stopped repeating his mantras, stopped meditating. What good did they do? In the chaos, there was no order, no safety to be found. He couldn’t help the growing suspicion that he’d simply been fed lies, trained up and then thrown to the metaphorical wolves to be swallowed whole. How many of his company had fallen? How many had he killed? He no longer knew and no longer cared. There was nothing for him, no life to be had but blood and fury and eventually death. Sweet, merciful death. Every time he fought, every time he drew his weapon, he prayed that his opponent would be swifter than he, quicker and more agile and smart enough to take advantage of that and strike that fatal blow. He couldn’t just give it to them, he was too proud for that. No, they had to _earn_ the right to kill him. But no one ever did, and so he was left alone, waiting for the end, watching the shadows to see which ones were real and which ones morphed into an enemy ready to stab him in the back.

Out of the corner of his eye, one of the shadows moved, and on instinct he moved with it, reaching out and grabbing, feeling his hand meet warm flesh. A gasp and then a clatter of metal hitting wood and then suddenly he was back in the tavern at Skyhold, a serving girl’s wrist in his grip. Her eyes were wide, as if she was questioning if he was going to do something, if Qunari really were monsters, just animals seething beneath the surface. He smiled at her, his face jerking at the motion as he let her go. “Sorry, you just startled me, coming up on my blind side like that.”

She tittered nervously, unsure and yet wanting to believe that as truth. And so she seemed to take that and run with it, stooping to pick up the dropped flagon. “Sorry, sir, I should have known. I’ll remember to take the other way ‘round next time.”

He chuckled good-naturedly as she made her way back to the bar, but that settled it. He tossed back the rest of his ale, set it on a nearby table, and rummaged in his pockets for a nice tip, one she deserved after that trouble. After tossing a nod to Maryden, he made his way out of the tavern, breathing in that cool night air that helped keep him grounded, helped remind him of where he was.

Except even there, there was no comfort. The night air helped banish the vision of Seheron, but the shadows themselves only grew longer, larger, until he couldn’t be sure whether or not they were actually writhing and changing shape or if that was simply an illusion. Or maybe everything else was. Maybe this was the waking nightmare and he would come to his senses just long enough for an assassin’s blade to sink into his ribs and he would expel his last breath before falling to the jungle floor. The great Hissrad, felled at last. He’d survived ten years, far longer than the maximum normally advised, but nothing lasted forever, this truth he knew well and no amount of reeducation could tell him otherwise. His foot tapped vigorously against the ground, a nervous habit as his eye darted from the walls to the courtyard to the stairs that led to the great hall, body tense, telling him to keep his guard up, to watch for the strike, to counter before it landed. There, in a small nook, would be a perfect place to hide, covered mostly by his blind side, and as the shadows moved, he folded his hands into fists, waiting, waiting for the ambush, for the rush of wind and steel that would signal a fight once more.

But it never came. For countless minutes he stood there, watching, waiting, ready to grapple and wrestle any attacker into submission. Hands clenched, jaw set, his eye kept roaming, kept watching the shadows, seeing how they changed and danced before his eyes. Whether their machinations were real or not, he couldn’t say, and couldn’t say he cared any longer. He felt unsettled, restless, and as a burst of laughter erupted from the tavern behind him, he stalked away to find his one respite, his anchor.

His Kadan.

He found them easily enough, sitting by the fireplace in their quarters, lounging in the lovely, radiating heat. They didn’t even hear him as he slipped inside, not until he was already upon them, embracing them from behind, inhaling their unique scent in an attempt to banish all else from his mind. A low chuckle, and they returned the embrace as much as they could in their position, commenting simply, “There you are.” Their voice, soft and low, it soothed like a balm, smoothing over the ragged edges, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t long until his lips were tracing their shoulder, the line of their neck, and then suddenly he tilted their head and claimed their mouth, tongue sweeping over every surface it could reach. The shuddering moan vibrated against his lips, and in quick succession they were both on the bed, his Kadan writhing beneath him as he filled them completely, the slick heat and pressure drawing him in like a moth to a flame. And even when they had reached their own end, and he his, it still wasn't enough, and his mouth instead stimulated them until he was ready again.

And again.

The barest hint of sun just crested the horizon as they finally collapsed, breaths thundering through them, sweat dripping off their bodies. Soft, murmured confessions of love and the exchange of endearments are the only other sounds in the room before his Kadan dropped off, softly snoring as they curled into The Bull’s large body.

And finally, there in the peace of the moment, their presence made the shadows shrink, as if the memories would simply slink away so long as he stayed with them. It won’t happen, but he could pretend like it might, and so The Bull pulled them close to him and pressed a kiss to their forehead before he closed his eye to seek a brief reprieve from consciousness.


End file.
